Sound of White
by esprit de corps
Summary: Modern AU. We all get a little dislocated in Arendelle: it's a large city. But maybe with a little heart, we'll get somewhere. (To survive, Anna and Elsa need their wits, a good poker face, and the right cards; but really, who's going to tell them?)
1. happy new year

1: happy new year

It was the quietest night of Kristoff's year.

In the middle of the city's shopping district, within a heated patrol car, he sat in silence, watching - as he always did - the sea of people surge past. No one noticed the little car parked away by the road, nor the man hidden away in it, wrapped up in a dark hat and a little muffler.

That suited him fine. He was never really a party person anyway.

From his vantage point, it was the perfect place to watch the rush of activity in the street and square, something he had soon discovered on his third time, finding that it was the perfect place to turn on the heat and the radio, and buy a cup of coffee to keep himself awake as he ensured the safety of the shoppers in uptown Arendelle.

_Same old, same old_.

Letting his eyes wander, he latched on to a family of three (father, mother, son) making their way to the centre of the square where a large pit had been set up in the middle of the area. A fire was blazing away in the pit, eating up the tiny flurries of snow that fell within its grasp, in preparation for the city's annual tradition of setting off lanterns to honour the new beginning.

He checked his watch. Five minutes.

A couple walked past his car, giggling as they unfolded a lantern from within their coats. It was a characteristic pink - one of the romance ones, bringing a grin to both faces as they wrote a wish on the side. The unbridled delight on both faces made him soften a little.

It almost made him wish he hadn't offered to patrol.

His radio crackled. An emcee started the official countdown, with _sixty seconds left now: I hope everyone has their lanterns_. He glanced at the packaged paper on the seat next to him, remembering Bulda's comment as she shoved it into his pocket.

_You better not be sulking in your car again, mister! I expect you to be there with everyone else lighting up those lanterns!_

He couldn't help but smile. Bulda seemed to have gotten the idea into her head that by joining in the various Arendellian festivities, Kristoff would snag himself a girlfriend, one that she would promptly rope in for family gatherings and (hopefully) nudge them towards marriage. Sweet, but embarrassing, especially with her determination to pair Kristoff up with that 'cute girl who follows you around'.

He didn't have the heart to point that out that the 'cute girl' was his intern, and also barely eighteen.

_Twenty seconds left, folks!_

The chatter outside grew louder, rising up in a huge wave of noise. Kristoff leaned his head outside the window to catch a glimpse of the lanterns. People in the square held their lanterns gingerly, their bodies tense, ready to throw them up in joyous celebration at the stroke of midnight.

_Fifteen seconds!_

His police-issued radio suddenly crackled too, competing with the other radio for his attention.

"HQ to Officer Bjorgman."

He scrambled for the receiver in surprise. "Yes, this is Officer Bjorgman."

The countdown had started. As one, the crowd started shouting.

"Officer Bjorgman, report your location."

_Ten._

"Carpark at Corgner Square. What is the situation?"

_Nine_.

"Request for police assistance at Third Avenue." The woman on the other line sounded curt and harried.

_Eight_.

"Yes, understood. I'll make my way over."

_Seven_.

He strapped his seatbelt on swiftly, tossing the police radio into the seat next to him, his unopened lantern forgotten. It was probably a routine call, he figured. People tended to fight on the last day of the new year; perhaps they no longer felt the pressure of being good for Santa. He snorted at his own joke.

_Six_.

A loud bang elicited screams from the gathered people. Startled, Kristoff quickly untangled himself and jumped out of his car.

_Five_.

A blaze erupted from the top of the Southern Isles building. As he stared in horror and shock, the fire briefly - barely - illuminated something on top of the building, and something else spiralled down, black and _charred_, falling in front of the crowd with a thud.

_Four_.

Someone screamed again, and soon it turned into a cacophony as people shoved and ran, away from the fallen object. Kristoff locked the car and dashed into the middle of the chaos, pushing.

_Three_.

The circle started breaking apart the closer he got to the centre. People jumped away upon seeing his uniform, screaming and pointing him to the object.

"Officer, please!"

"Officer, do something!"

"It's dead!"

Voices muddled his senses. Skidding on a patch of ice, he slid out right in front of the building, a handful of remnant dark flakes falling around him.

_Two_.

The _thing_ left him bewildered. He heard his heart beating furiously in his ear, his brain trying to keep up with the rush of adrenaline that gripped him. _This was - this was -_

_One_.

_Happy New Year!_ The emcee in the TV station screamed in glee, as the large clock in the middle of Corgner Square tolled its obligatory twelve bells loudly.

Kristoff felt frozen.

This was the mayoral candidate.

* * *

It was the coldest night of Elsa's year.

On a little street off the city centre, she plodded along silently, her hands stuck deeply in her pockets, and her face tucked underneath the long scarf she had wound around her neck. It was silent in these streets.

She liked the quiet. It was peaceful and lonely, and sometimes when stuck in a melancholy mood, she liked to walk along Forgotten Avenue, tasting the salty breeze of the sea wafting in from Helgen Docks and the sounds of sailors preparing themselves for another long journey.

She liked the sailors too. They talked little, but were content to have some different company, and so she dropped by the docks, hoping to catch a glimpse of the handsome friendly captain with a beautiful wife at home.

The docks were empty, save for a lone man, smoking a cigarette furiously at the edge of the pier. She recognised him.

"Lonely?"

The man turned around in surprise, hands already balled into fists and ready to fire. He relaxed upon seeing her.

"Not really. Just enjoying the breeze."

It was kind of inexplicable how she could sit with strangers in comfortable silence, but something about tonight felt particularly commiserating. Maybe it was the fact that they were two displaced people seeking solitude.

"I didn't see you last week."

The man hummed in agreement, stubbing out his cigarette. Blowing out tiny regular puffs of smoke he turned to contemplate her. His eyes glittered slightly.

"No, I had something to do." He paused for a moment. "How are the children?"

She shrugged, not knowing what to say. _They're fine._ _They're growing up well._ _Tomas grew two centimeters, and Hilde broke a toe. Petter just came in, been crying every night, and baby Petra - poor baby Petra - would probably never survive to her second birthday._

She settled for a simple answer. "Growing. As expected."

He chuckled at her answer, his voice coming out as a rasp from the smoke inhalation. He lit up another cigarette.

"Quiet night."

She nodded, looking out at the anchored ships. Arendelle was the leading exporter in the world, functioning as a port and a rest stop for ships travelling around the world. She remembered the sailor she'd learned poker from.

The wind howled. "A child went missing today," she suddenly murmured, surprising herself with her initiative. The man looked at her in mirrored surprise.

It might have been the sea breeze, or the way he looked out at the world, but something told her that she wasn't the only one craving human connection. And so she spoke, telling him about the girl - Nini - and how she left to play soccer and never came back. It was probably just a case of being lost, but it had been sixteen hours, and while rowdy, Nini was never defiant, and she never came back beyond her curfew.

The wind lashed at her, and she noticed the expression on his face. It was soft, half hidden by the shadows on his face, his right side illuminated by the lighthouse off the side of the pier.

"I lost a niece, once."

It startled her a little. She smiled, regaining her composure.

"That's a first. I've only ever told you about myself."

He grinned, a hint of playfulness in the curve of his mouth. "Maybe I like hearing about you."

"Hm." She raised an eyebrow, trying to hide the smile on her face. "Tell me more."

He settled down on the pier then, kicking off his shoes and leaning on the railings. Tilting his head at the opposite railing, he crossed his legs and waited for her to sit.

"My niece, she was called Kari, and she had the greenest eyes I ever knew…"

In the loud tolling of Corgner's clock, Elsa couldn't help but feel a little warmth spread. Around her, the falling snowflakes melted, the breeze carrying quiet whispers of _new year happy new year._

* * *

It was just another night of Anna's year.

At eleven, the office was empty, save for the light emanating from her computer, and the clacking of the printer as it printed the files she needed. By this point, it was difficult to deny Elsa's insistence that she was a workaholic.

But really, coming from Elsa? That was rich. Slumping in her chair bitterly, Anna remembered the brief angry conversation she had with Elsa before stomping out of the house.

"_Going out?"_

_Anna turned around, hand halfway to the door. She straightened sheepishly._

"_I - yeah. I mean…"_

_Elsa looked at her directly, her blue eyes an x-ray scanning her and probing into her thoughts._

"_You're meeting Hans again."_

_She bristled at the tone in Elsa's voice. "Yes, I am."_

"_It's New Year's Eve."_

_Was this some hidden code she didn't understand? Brow furrowed, Anna stared at her sister. Elsa seemed to want something from her._

"_Okay?"_

_She waited for Elsa to say something - to ask her, tell her. It was probably blind hope, really, but she waited._

_Elsa opened her mouth, conflict shifting in her eyes. For a moment, Anna actually believed that she was going to speak. Then, just like that, she looked away, out of the window, staring at the clock tower with its lighted face, the hands clicking into position at 9._

"_Yeah, um - okay. I - well, enjoy yourself."_

_And this made her angry._

Anna cringed as she recalled the shouting match that had proceeded from that exchange. It wasn't fair at all. Elsa lived her own life, prowling solitary like some regal alley cat, while Anna was like the desperate labrador licking at its owners' heels for any little scrap of attention.

She really despised herself sometimes.

Her phone buzzed, and she sat up reluctantly to look at the message.

_where are you? im at corgner square_

Right, Hans. She grabbed the papers off the printer, slamming them down in frustration. What exactly was Elsa's problem with Hans anyway? He was gorgeous, charming, funny, and he totally connected with her on an amazing level. They never disagreed.

"Funny. You'd think she'd want her sister to be happy."

She glared at the papers darkly, which wilted. Elsa was probably off gallivanting wherever she was now. _Probably that orphanage_.

It made her incredibly bitter how Elsa always seemed to have time for these children. _Four for you, children, and none for Anna, bye_.

She quickly snatched up her phone. She wasn't going to think of this, not now, not on New Year's Eve

_last minute assignment, cant make it, sorry_

She hesitated on the 'send', remembering the past new year spent in the office. A jolt of decisiveness gripped her.

Who cared what the hell Elsa thought of Hans? Hans liked her, and she liked him, and she didn't really like Elsa at this moment. Anna picked up her bag and stuffed her items in haphazardly. If Elsa didn't want to ask her to spend New Year's Eve together, then she would spend it with other people, damn Elsa and her opinion.

Reaching out to shut down her computer, Anna spared the photo on her table a glance. Her parents were smiling brightly from the picture, with a grumpy looking Elsa and Anna with them. She remembered that particular photoshoot.

Finding herself smiling at the memory, she immediately slapped the photo down on the table.

_im going over! soon! asap!_

Sending this message to Hans instead, she dashed out towards Corgner Square, a heady feeling of anticipation bubbling up within her. It would be her first time setting off lanterns since her parents' deaths six years ago, and she wasn't about to let anything get in her way.

Absolutely nothing.

* * *

It was the last night of Klaus Jensen's life.

It was also a happy night. His campaign was a success, as expected, and the girl he had been chasing after - mooning after, as Jostein would say flatly - for seven years had finally said yes to him. All in all, it was probably the best night in his thirty-two years.

At seven, his assistant had called him, reminding him of his date. At seven-thirty, he finally got out of his office, dodging calls from Duke Weselton on revising their campaign speech again.

At eight, he finally arrived at the Southern Isles building, meeting with his beautiful Lisa, bouquet in hand and charming apology ready. She smiled upon receiving the roses, informing him that she had already reserved seats.

"Table forty-two," the waitress said crisply, leading them to the VIP booth in the restaurant.

Sliding into the seats, he placed an arm around her, sharing a menu. Around them, a few other couples sat, smiling and whispering to one another. He recognised one of the ladies from the opposing party. Locking eyes, they both gave each other a curt nod, before returning to their partners. A smile tugged at his lips as he noticed that her partner was a girl.

"Why are you smiling?"

He looked at Lisa, radiant in her happiness. "Nothing, just happy." He pressed a tiny kiss to her cheek.

The feeling of being relaxed was intoxicating, so much so that it took him fifteen minutes to notice the dark man standing near the toilets. He blinked in surprise to note that the man was staring at him intently.

The man mimed looking at his phone.

Frowning, Klaus glanced at his screen.

_come up to the roof if you want to save duke weselton's career_

Duke Weselton's career? He wanted to slam his head on the wall behind him. He warned him, he _told_ him to cover up. Now Weselton's career was going to be ruined, and probably ruin his career along with his.

He stood up. Lisa looked at him questioningly.

"Restroom."

At her nod, he moved off quickly. The man had disappeared shortly after he read the message, and Klaus ran after him, out of the restaurant and into the lifts. Pressing the button for the 40th floor, he dashed out as soon as the lift opened, and made for the emergency staircase.

He emerged into the icy winter air of Arendelle. The man was standing at the edge of the roof, sitting on the short wall that was supposed to prevent any accidental falls. Klaus inched forwards.

"Klaus Jensen," the man said gravely, as soon as he was within earshot. "You shouldn't have come."

He was stunned. "Wha - ?"

Before he could form a coherent thought, a large blaze of fire swept across him, eating him up in scorching pain. He opened his mouth to scream, but a second blast covered his face, and there was nothing but pain - just pain, and it was beyond imagination. He stumbled then, hitting the short wall, reigniting the pain as he screamed and screamed again. The man loomed over him, his eyes glowing.

_I'm sorry._

Then he was falling, down and down and down, and the last image seared into his mind was of those glowing, glowing red eyes.


	2. coincidental connections

A/N: Eek, sorry for the late update. To all the people who reviewed and faved and followed, thank you for the support! It was really encouraging seeing all your nice reviews. The plot really starts proper in this chapter, so enjoy!

2: coincidental connections

There was something to be said for Anna's experience with grief. It was sudden, certainly, like a shot out of the window of a car, and a bludgeon to the back of the head; it was also numb and never resolved, like the cold case her parents' murder had become. Most days she was fine, but some days became a stinging reminder of how these things just creep up on you.

Today was just one such day.

Sigurd was a sweet man, one of the sweetest men she'd ever known, smiling, cherubic and with the persistence of an old St Bernard. He churned out stories with the efficiency of a factory machine, and in his years as a reporter, had publicly disgraced two Prime Ministers, five MPs and a celebrity. He was pretty much Anna's role model.

But then he died in a diving accident. Of course, accident was the word the police used; Anna preferred 'murder', because for once, she _did_ actually know better.

She had conversed a little with the man just the day before his death, and he had confided in her, briefly, about the story he was currently working on. Under normal circumstances she might have been surprised, but two years as a reporter taught her this thing about _legacy_. Story legacies.

She toyed with the old antique key in her pocket, a duplicate Sigurd had given her to his old safe-box in his family home. 'Family' in a loose sense; he had also told her that it was currently owned by a long-lost cousin he vaguely remembered. It passed into that cousin's possession only three months ago after his crotchety old banshee of an uncle finally died, but Sigurd's notes were still in that thing, and in any case, it seemed no one was claiming it yet. So, on days he needed his notes, he just broke in.

This was all very new to Anna, and she took it in with wide-eyed surprise. Murder, burning, uncles that lived to a hundred and twenty, and breaking into what was technically his own house - it floored her. But she nodded politely as Sigurd reassured her that this was just Plan B and while he would rather have told her mentor, Erik, he had to make do, and he was really quite unlikely to die and not to worry.

Now, standing in front of his casket and laying a single white lily on it, she thought she might have some cause to panic.

The air was damp, it having just poured heavily in the morning, and Anna held on to her black umbrella tightly, the umbrella she had brought to her parents' funeral.

She took a seat at the back, along the rows, right next to Erik who was leaned forwards with his head bowed. As she sat, she laid a gentle hand on his forearm and squeezed. He nodded in reply; it was probably the closest he would ever come to saying thanks.

People were still coming to the funeral, and Anna watched as several foreign looking people streamed in. A large blond man stepped off a motorbike, his hair and trenchcoat drenched, not seeming too bothered by it as he leaned in to kiss the widow's cheek.

They seemed to exchange a few words, the widow dabbing at the tears in her eyes as the blond man drew her into a hug, offering comfort. Beside her, Erik coughed a little and finally looked up.

She gave him a tiny smile when he looked at her.

"I'm sorry about Sigurd," she said. He smiled weakly back.

"Yeah. How - how is his wife?"

"She's talking to someone." Anna tilted her head in the direction of the blond man, currently clasping the widow's hand in his sympathetically.

At that point, the blond man turned, seeming to stare in Anna and Erik's direction. She shifted uncomfortably when she realised he was making his way over. Her mentor seemed to recognise him, however, standing immediately and shaking hands.

"Erik," the man murmured. "It's good to see you again. I'm sorry about what happened."

Anna shifted, trying her best to look straight ahead and ignore the men's conversation, but unfortunately Erik didn't seem to have the same thought in mind.

"Kristoff, this is Anna," he introduced. "Anna Arendelle. Anna, this is Kristoff Bjorgman."

"Oh." Kristoff's eyes widened. "You're -"

"Yes." She forced a smile, cutting him off immediately. "Yes, I am. It's nice to meet you."

"Uh, yeah nice to meet you too." Kristoff smiled politely back and resumed his conversation with Erik. Anna slumped down on the seat glumly. Great. Not only did she manage to make herself sound snappy, he probably wasn't even going to say anything about her parents.

For the rest of the funeral, she sat in the midst of all the grieving people, almost uniform in their black and sorrow. She realised she was the only one wearing green, a deep emerald that was the darkest colour she currently owned. An uncomfortable feeling crawled over her as she sat stiffly among everyone else, the only who didn't know him personally, and the only one who didn't adhere to that silent unspoken dress code.

At the end of it all, Erik disappeared to speak to people, and everyone else filed out, offering condolences to the family or stepping somberly into cars. She and the only other person - Kristoff - sat quietly in the seats, watching the flow of people move past.

"I wanted to apologise," Kristoff suddenly said, leaning over slightly to be heard over the crowd. "I didn't mean to be rude."

"Oh." Anna's eyes widened. "No, no, it's okay. I was - um, it's not a very good day."

"Of course not." An awkward silence descended on them.

Anna struggled for words, finally coming up with a hasty, "how are you related to Sigurd?"

Kristoff scratched the back of his head. "I'm a cousin, actually. But I've never met him before."

A cousin? Wait, _that_ cousin?

"Um, like the I-took-the-family-home type of cousin?"

_Did she actually say that out loud?_ Oh for the love of -

Kristoff looked nonplussed. "Um, no, actually." He glanced at her suspiciously. "Wait, family home? How are _you_ related to Sigurd?"

Okay, just play it cool and subtle.

"I'm working on his story."

_Are you kidding me right now?_ Of all the stupid, traitorous mouths - _real subtle, Anna, just absolutely fantastic. S_he closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. Now would be the best time to extricate herself before she could put another foot into her mouth.

"His story?" There was something in Kristoff's tone that made her look up. "His latest one?"

It was Anna's turn to look suspiciously at him. Kristoff adjusted his jacket nervously, as he attempted to discreetly look around. Most of the people had left, and among the chairs, it was just Anna and Kristoff.

"He didn't tell you about the - um, burning, did he?"

_Burning?_ Anna narrowed her eyes.

"No… He didn't…"

"Oh, damn it." Kristoff buried his face into his hands. "Sorry, I thought he might have told someone."

Feeling a little pity for the man who seemed to be in real danger of committing honour suicide, Anna decided to clarify. "He didn't actually tell me what the story was about, but he did tell me where his notes were."

"Notes?" Kristoff's mouth fell open in a little 'o'.

"Probably case notes." Anna touched the key in her pocket. "What exactly is this story - thing?"

"It's...secret," Kristoff said lamely. "We should also probably discuss this elsewhere because Erik is coming back."

Oh, right. Anna looked up to see her mentor return, a curious look in his eyes. Kristoff pulled out a card and passed it to her.

"Good luck in your story. You can contact me if you need any help investigating. I have to go; bye Erik."

Kristoff picked up his hat and swiftly left the area, brushing past a slightly confused -looking Erik.

"Had a nice chat?"

"Yeah." Anna nodded, her eyes following the leaving Kristoff. "Actually, yeah I did."

"Interesting man," Erik remarked. "Shall we leave?"

As they left, Anna glanced at the card. It was a name card, with Kristoff's full name and (presumably) office address on it; on the job listing, it listed him as a private investigator.

_Yeah. Interesting._

* * *

"Hey Elsa, don't look now, but I think that man has been staring at you for the past half an hour." Lisbeth's tone held barely suppressed glee as she nudged Elsa, indicating the man sitting in the corner.

Humouring her colleague, she glanced over, raising an eyebrow to note the _absolutely gorgeous_ man her coworkers had been gushing over. He seemed oddly familiar to her, actually, but she couldn't really place him at the moment, and he was reading a very thick book on the history of politics.

How...exciting.

"Lis, he's reading," Elsa replied flatly, clearing the cups on the table. The café was half-full, packed mostly with studying university students done with their lectures for the day.

"Yes, he is," Lis sing-songed, "but he's also staring at you over the top of his book."

"You're so lucky," Eva sighed. "He's so dreamy."

"Hm." Elsa gave her co-worker a polite smile, carrying the tray of used cups to the back. She wasn't very sure how to tell them, but she was quite certainly not interested in romance.

Especially since she had bigger problems, like not accidentally freezing the entire room when she got scared. After the first practical joke, she convinced the manager to make everyone wear gloves for hygiene.

"Are you sure you're not interested in him?" Eva cooed, swinging by with a bag of cocoa beans and smiling brightly at her.

Elsa shook her head firmly. "Yeah. Quite sure."

"Nothing I can do to change your mind?"

Elsa dropped the cloth in surprise. The man was leaning on the counter, a smile on his face as he watched her. Lis and Eva made little squealing noises, and rushed into the back, after a short "we'll give you guys some privacy!"

She poked awkwardly at the glass case. "Muffin?"

"Sure," the man chuckled, pointing at the blueberry one. "You know, I couldn't help but notice that you're a little overqualified for this position."

"What?" She stared blankly at him, unamused. Unwanted suitors were one thing, but creepy stalkers were less welcome than unwanted suitors.

"No, no, not like that." He waved his hands. "I overheard you talking with those law students." He nodded at the group of three students at the back, stacking up their coffee cups into a pyramid. "You know quite a bit about law."

"Yeah? That's not really your business, is it?" She handed him the muffin. "5 dollars, thank you."

He eyed the tiny muffin on the plate. "Isn't that...a little overpriced?"

"No, the muffin is two-fifty. The rest is my tip for having my privacy invaded. Have a nice day." She tugged the note out his hand and dropped it squarely into the tip jar.

The man looked impressed, a tiny grin on his face as he took the plate.

"Any chance I could have your number?"

"Nope." She shook her head. "That's priceless."

"Right." He smiled and returned to his table, and for the rest of the day, she felt his eyes on her, watching and taking notes.

That was the first week. The second week, he came by again and tried to make conversation, which she had, once again, promptly shut down. This went on for about three weeks until one day she finally dumped his usual blueberry muffin on his table and before he could even open his mouth, struck out a firm "no".

He smiled and took a bite. "That wasn't what I was going to ask."

"Really? I somehow doubt that." She turned back to go behind the counter, ignoring him as he followed her.

"No, really." He ordered a latte before she could leave and get Lis to take over. "I actually wanted to offer you a position at my party."

"Your party?" she asked doubtfully, planting his cup on the saucer. It rattled upon impact, and she cringed. She would get a scolding if that broke.

The man seemed unphased by her cool response. "Yeah, the Labour Party. I'm sure you've heard of it."

The name Labour Party struck her. That guy from the New Year's Day burning. She paused in her movements.

"Yeah, I see you have. Anyway, we have an opening recently and I thought you would be great."

Wait, Labour Party. She stared at the man's face, realising suddenly why he always seemed so familiar to her.

"You're Torvald Kristiansen!"

The man bowed his head. "Yep."

Elsa crossed her arms.

"Why would I join your party?"

Torvald stroked his sideburns, seeming to ponder the question.

"Well, you're smart - obviously, witty, and you care about the people. That's pretty impressive."

"And how would you know I care about the people?"

Torvald tapped his chin. "I did hear you talking to Eva about that orphanage you go to."

Oh, right. He knew. She contemplated the man, turning his proposal over in her mind. She had to consider her powers, of course; but she also really did hate the way the city was run, the way class divisions were enforced, and how unfortunate children were often forgotten in the name of advancement. This was a real chance of helping those children, instead of just complaining about it.

Torvald seemed to sense her conflict, and he laid a piece of paper on the counter.

"That's my number," he said, sliding it across. "When you've made up your mind, call me. That, or call me for anything else at all." He gave her a shit-eating grin.

She rolled her eyes and tucked the paper away in her pocket.

She would stare at the paper later at night, folding and unfolding it over and over again, debating both sides of the issue and turning it around to look at multiple angles and even consult Anna, who was delighted to find out that she was about to have a real proper job for once.

And in the early morning, she would drop by the docks to think, and hopefully run into a very handsome stranger who might or might not be, sort of, her friend.

* * *

Kristoff's office was tiny, a rectangular little room tucked neatly away in the side of one of the old dilapidated buildings along the boardwalk. The evening breeze was calming, a soothing spray of sea water blowing in from the fjord, running its fingers through her hair as she walked. It had been a long time since she last visited the boardwalk.

Children were playing along the boardwalk, one of them - amazingly - juggling fire. She couldn't tell how, but he must have been some illusionist's apprentice, because the flames he was juggling seemed to be just flames. There wasn't any stick or baton, just pure fire. He laid a hat out on the street, bowing and doing extra tricks as people dropped coins into it.

At the entrance of number 29, she rapped loudly on the door, examining the brass detailing of the handle in curiosity. It was some sort of golem, or a lion maybe, with claws and sharp teeth opening up into a handle, with the brass tarnished, the original gold of the knob turning into a sort of ugly, dark colour.

The door opened. A thin and twisted old man peered up at her with an unfriendly eye through the lenses he held up to his face.

"Who're you?" he asked rudely.

"Uh, I'm looking for Kristoff? Kristoff Bjorgman?"

"Who the hell is that?" The old man glared at her. "I haven't heard that name in my life."

"Wait, what?" Anna stared at the card in her hand. "But it says right here. Number twenty-nine, zero-three-zero-five."

The man grabbed her hand, dragging it right in front of his eyes.

"Oh. The imbecile on the third floor." The man seemed to be muttering to himself, as he tapped his cane and growled. "Hasn't paid his rent in a month, he hasn't."

She was led into the hall, a brick building with paint peeling slightly from the sides. A name plate had been hammered into the right wall, a series of gold lettering listing the businesses that were in operation in the building. She recognised some of them as new start-ups.

Kristoff Bjorgman was the last on the haphazard list; the plate bearing his name and unit number was one of the shiniest on the board. The old man led her up the stairs, the wooden panels creaking under their weight all the way up to the highest floor. A turn to the left brought her right in front of 03-05.

It was exactly what she would have imagined a stereotypical PI office to look like. The door was wooden, with a glass panel set in the top half, the words PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR plastered across it. The blinds were pulled down behind the glass, but Anna could hear strains of rock music drifting out from behind the door.

She knocked twice. Immediately, she heard the music shut off, and a dishevelled-looking Kristoff lifted the blind to peer out from behind his office door. He started when he saw her, threading a hand through his hair and opening the door.

"Hi."

"Uh, hi," he replied. "Come in. It's, um, a little messy - I hope you don't mind."

"No, 'course not."

The office was surprisingly clean; there were a few coats flung around on sofas, some papers scattered and a pizza box sitting on the coffee table, but other than that, it was quite neat. She had been expecting far worse from a PI. A large German Shepherd slept in the corner.

"That's Sven."

Kristoff cleared the sofa for her. She sat in it gingerly, feeling the entire seat sink under her.

"Sorry I didn't call. This must be so - unexpected."

"Oh, no, that's - that's okay." Kristoff pulled up the blinds on the windows, giving her a brilliant view of the fjord, the water sparkling a brilliant blue in the cool spring. She fiddled with the button on her blazer nervously.

"So…" she began lamely. "We were talking about Sigurd's story the other time."

There was a hum of affirmation from Kristoff, and a groan of exertion, and she turned around, watching as Kristoff lifted a box from underneath his table.

"What's that?"

"Some notes Sigurd asked me to compile." He dusted off the lid, sending flurries into her face, and lifted it.

Anna looked into the box, removing a few booklets and riffling through them.

"They're…fairy tales."

"Well, yeah." Kristoff pressed his lips together and stared at the papers in the box. "Fairy tales from around the world."

She looked at the papers in her hands. This was a story of the legendary Queen Elsa Everwinter, the queen apparently born of ice and snow and could create magic with her fingers. She grabbed the next stack of papers. That was from Agrabah, the story of the peasant Shahryar, a man who manipulated shadows and darkness, and used his powers to purge evil from the land.

"These are all stories about magic," she said, dumbfounded.

Kristoff shrugged, straddling a chair. "That's all I got."

"Oh." Anna paused. "Well, I did receive a key from him."

"Sorry, what?"

Anna took out the key from her neck, handing it to Kristoff.

The man examined the key with interest, his fingers brushing every inch of it, feeling the texture of the cool metal and finding the snowflake engraved on it. Anna knew this, because she had probably already memorised the key in the two weeks after receiving it.

"That's a snowflake," Kristoff said, holding the tiny key up to the light.

"Very astute."

He ignored her. "This is kind of familiar," he murmured, furrowing his brow at the key. The old metal barely reflected any light from the lightbulb ahead.

It was funny he should say that, since she had the exact same reaction. There was a niggling in the back of her head, something that told her that she should know, that it was something that everyone knew, but she couldn't place it right at that moment. For some reason, she felt extra stupid for not remembering.

"Does this open anything?"

"Something from the old family home."

"Right." Kristoff nodded. "Uh, the one you asked me about at the funeral?"

"Yeah. Yeah, exactly. It's owned by some long-lost cousin; I don't know who it is though."

"Oh good, that's great."

Great?

"I can do that. For once." He rolled his eyes. "You have no idea how many people come in here asking me to look for _widdle_ _kitty_."

She giggled at his tone, exchanging glances with Kristoff as he smiled at her. She sat for a while, smiling at him, until the insistent buzzing on her phone reminded her that she had an appointment with her editor.

"Um, I have to go." She stood up abruptly. "Call me when you have anything?"

"Sure." Kristoff stood too, bumping into her awkwardly. "Ouch, sorry."

"Ow." She rubbed her head only to burst out laughing at the embarrassed look on his face. "It's okay, I'll get going now."

Waving a quick goodbye to him, Anna stepped out of the office, her steps a little lighter than they had been when she went in.

* * *

The fog was thick that early morning at the docks. Stepping out onto the wooden platform, Elsa smiled at the sailors loading goods onto the ship; two weeks of seeing them unload and load crates made their faces familiar enough to her.

The old captain tipped his hat at her.

"Early morning today?"

She nodded. "How's the crew?"

"Oh they're good, they're good. Mighty happy after the break they got yesterday. You know how men are." He winked at her.

This was the HSS Light, the Coronian ship trusted with the most important of goods.

She smiled and made her way round the boathouse. There was a crag at the lighthouse, she knew, with a little rock sticking out: perfect for thinking and keeping the entirety of Helgen Docks in her field of vision.

The hill was steep. She made her way up carefully, taking care not to scratch her leather boots or dirty her pants, finally reaching the top of the outcropping upon which the lighthouse stood. The light was still on inside, a thick beacon slicing through the fog, also helpfully illuminating the area around the base.

A little girl stood at the edge of the rock.

Elsa paused, staring. The wind whipped at the girl strongly, but she didn't seem to feel the cold - a stray voice whispered in her head _just like you_ - looking out into the ocean, half-shrouded by the fog.

She wondered if she should call out to the girl. The girl only wore a nightdress, a pink one that reached to the middle of her calves; her hair tangled in the wind, a mess of brown. She took a few steps towards the girl.

The child seemed to sense her presence, turning to stare at her calmly, her green eyes wide and milky. Elsa shivered as she realised the girl was blind.

She moved forward now, determined to haul the girl back to safety. She could see the child's toes curling on the edge of the rock, balancing precariously on the brink of death. She would have called out, but the wind seemed to have taken her voice, so she reached out to her instead.

The girl stared at her hand blankly. Then she leaned forwards and fell, tipping over the cliff and into the depths of the sea below. Elsa screamed, rushing to grab at the girl's hands, but swiping through nothing but thin air. A chill ran down her spine as she realised that the girl could never be saved.

She kneeled and craned her neck over the edge of the rocks, her fingers digging holes into the dirt, trying to look at the sea below. A string caught her eye. Reaching out gingerly, she hooked her index finger into the loop and pulled up a tiny necklace.

Her eyes widened as she recognised the little snowflake shaped pendant hanging on the string.

Another chill ran down her back. The wind roared.


End file.
